


bargain

by astratic



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cancer, Chemotherapy, Disordered Eating, Domestic Fluff, Emetophobia, Illness, Lots of kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nonbinary Character, gerry doesnt die au lol, hair petting is jons true weakness, nonbinary jonathan sims
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 08:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18797095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astratic/pseuds/astratic
Summary: “You’re not allowed to move for at least a half hour.”Jon snorts, “Didn’t realize I was being held hostage.”“You’re not. You’re a pillow,” Gerry puts his arms around Jon’s middle and squeezes, determined to keep them.Jon could move if they wanted to, of course, but they want few things less than to disturb Gerry in this moment. Instead, they wrap their arms about Gerry’s shoulders and close their eyes.





	bargain

Gerry closes his laptop and leans into Jon’s side, pressing his face into their shoulder and winding an arm about their waist. It’s awkward, as Jon is a good bit shorter than him, but neither of them minds.

“Everything okay?” Says Jon, reaching up to rub the back of Gerry’s neck.

“Yeah,” he says into their shirt, “just the usual, you know.”

Jon bumps Gerry lightly with their elbow until he pulls away so that they can turn toward him, slotting their legs on either side of him and holding their arms open.

Gerry settles gratefully against Jon’s chest, inhaling the scent of their deodorant mixed with vague hints of sweat. It’s a light, citrus smell—Jon doesn’t much like strong odors. Gerry thinks it suits them perfectly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jon says into his headscarf.

Gerry shrugs very slightly, exhaustion running thick in his veins suddenly, “Same as always. Tired, nauseated, should eat something but can’t. That girl was there again, though—the college student with leukemia. I’ve decided I quite like her; her sense of humor is awfully morbid.”

“Comes with the territory, I suppose.”

Gerry laughs, “It does,” he pushes himself up, trembling only slightly, and kisses Jon. It’s quick and chaste, and Gerry collapses back on top of them immediately, but he smiles.

Jon rubs at his back, brow knit with concern, “Do you want me to get you anything? I can—”

“Absolutely not. You’re not allowed to move for at least a half hour.”

Jon snorts, “Didn’t realize I was being held hostage.”

“You’re not. You’re a pillow,” Gerry puts his arms around Jon’s middle and squeezes, determined to keep them.

Jon could move if they wanted to, of course, but they want few things less than to disturb Gerry in this moment. Instead, they wrap their arms about Gerry’s shoulders and close their eyes.

It’s actually only about ten minutes before Gerry has to drag himself off of Jon and the couch and stumble to the toilet to vomit. Jon pulls their knees to their chest, chilled suddenly at Gerry’s absence, and frowns.

They get up then and put the kettle on, brewing a cup of ginger tea which they offer to Gerry when he’s done brushing his teeth. He takes it, seats himself at the table, and proceeds to ignore the mug completely in favor of resting his cheek on the cool wood.

“It might help you feel better,” says Jon gently.

“Rarely does.”

They fold their arms and lean over, resting their elbows on the table so they can look Gerry in the eye. He sticks out his pierced tongue.

“Please?”

He sighs and sits up, “It’s not fair if you pout like that. You know I can’t say no.”

Jon blushes, which they know is Gerry’s goal, “I am  _not_  pouting.”

Gerry snorts and sips his tea, “You make it so  _easy_ , Jon.”

He reaches over and tugs lightly at Jon’s shirtsleeve, pulling them closer. Jon follows obediently, bracing themself with a hand on the table as Gerry hooks a finger in their collar and pulls them in for a kiss.

It’s slow this time, lingering, and Jon can taste the odd mix of mint toothpaste and ginger on Gerry’s lips. Gerry’s hand brushes over their back, the touch so light it makes Jon shiver.

“Come here,” he whispers into Jon’s lips, and they can only release a trembling breath as they allow Gerry to slip his arm about their waist and tug them down into his lap, sliding back the chair to make room.

“You should really try to eat something—”

Gerry takes their hand and brings their palm to his lips, stopping the sentence in its tracks. Gerry’s good at that.

“It makes me miss you. Being poked and prodded at like that—it…hurts. It makes me feel so…sensitive, and I just want…you.”

Jon bites their lip, “Okay,” they put their hands on his face, and Gerry leans into their touch, closing his eyes. They lean in and press a quick kiss to each of his eyelids, feeling him smile against their hands. They sit back and study him for several moments until Gerry’s eyes blink open again.

“What are you thinking?”

Jon turns and grabs the mug of tea from the table behind them, offering it, “Would you like to bargain?”

Gerry snorts, “You’re just terrible,” he accepts the mug and wrinkles his nose, “I really hate ginger tea, you know.”

“I thought you liked it.”

“Used to,” Gerry drinks. It’s already getting too cool for his liking, “You experience something often enough alongside feeling horribly ill, and I guarantee you’d start to hate it too.”

Jon grimaces, “I’m sorry; do you want to try something else?”

“Absolutely not,” Gerry laughs, taking another sip, “Don’t want to add to the list of things chemo has ruined for me.”

This sends a pang through Jon’s chest, and they take the mug gently from Gerry.

“Are you—”

Jon is kissing him before he can finish, melancholy and wanting, and they’re breathless when they pull away.

“A deal’s a deal. Sorry. I, uh, I didn’t mean to cut you off.”

Gerry gazes at them fondly, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Jon’s breath hitches, “You—you didn’t. I mean, I am, but—” they reach up, cupping the back of his neck, pressing their forehead to his, “I’m so grateful for you. I know the treatment is awful. I hate to see you hurting, but I’m so thankful—” Instead of finishing this thought, they kiss him again—and again, and again, and—

Gerry laughs suddenly, and Jon pulls away, almost irritated, panting, “What’s funny?”

Gerry kisses their hand again, pecking at each of their knuckles in turn, “You’re going to make me like ginger tea again with all this positive reinforcement.”

Jon snorts with laughter in spite of themself, and some of the tension goes out of them, “You sure you won’t just start hating me, too?”

“Jon.”

“Sorry—”

Gerry strokes their cheek with the back of his hand, “Not a chance in hell.”

Jon laughs again, but it’s heavy—their breath catches in their throat. Silence falls between them.

“This chair is uncomfortable,” Gerry murmurs. “I’d like to lie down, I think.”

Jon scrambles to their feet, nearly tripping but for Gerry catching them with an arm around their waist.

They blush, clutching at Gerry’s shirt.

“I’m not contagious,” he says, “You don’t have to leave so fast.”

“I know!” Jon kisses him as if to prove a point, a petulant peck on the lips that leaves Gerry shaking in silent laughter.

“Can I get you anything?” Jon asks, voice tight with embarrassment and annoyance, and this only makes Gerry laugh harder.

“Yes,” he says, hugging Jon’s waist, “you can bring your grumpy ass to bed with me,” he glances up at Jon, who has a hand on Gerry’s head, rubbing absently at the satiny fabric of his headscarf even as they pout.

“I meant food.”

Gerry smiles gently, “Toast. No promises.”

Jon’s tense expression immediately dissolves as they plant another kiss on the top of Gerry’s head and scurry away to retrieve the bread.

A couple minutes later, Gerry is in bed and Jon is climbing in beside him, balancing two pieces of lightly buttered toast on a plate.

Gerry groans when Jon offers it to him.

“Toast is a singular noun,” he whines.

“It’s literally not. ‘Toast’ can refer to one or many  _pieces_  of toast.”

Gerry extends his middle finger and lays it solemnly across his closed eyes.

Jon sets aside the plate and settles down beside him, propping their head up with one hand and placing the other on Gerry’s chest, feeling the gentle, steady movement of his breathing.

Eventually Gerry moves his hand and peeks at Jon, reaching up to comb his fingers through their hair. They lower their head and rest it gently on his shoulder as Gerry continues stroking their hair, a soft, rhythmic movement that makes it hard to fight against the pull of sleep dragging at their consciousness.

Gerry places his hand over Jon’s on his chest, and Jon sighs softly. Gerry closes his eyes.

“Me too,” he murmurs, “I’ll eat something in a bit. Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted to astratic on tumblr!


End file.
